Bum Stuff
by earthMom
Summary: Jack McCoy disappears after his law license is suspended. Briscoe and Green find him in an unlikely place.
1. Chapter 1

Abbie Carmichael sighed as she tossed a file onto her desk. Ronald Humphrey would be up for parole next month. He had served eight years. He was prosecuted long before she'd arrived at the DA's office. She would have to pore through the files to become familiar enough with the particulars to represent the people at the parole hearing. She could assign the task to an assistant, of course, but it would most likely be Abbie herself who would have to convince the parole board not to release Humphrey, that is, if the people should even object to the parole in the first place. It appeared that he had served his time without incident, and his record before this conviction was not too damning. 

Her frustration wasn't just from this case. The frustration came from not being able to stick her head around the corner and ask Jack about Humphrey. He never forgot anyone he convicted. It had been so easy to just get the particulars from Jack rather than trying to extract what was important out of a huge file. But it was more than that also. Abbie missed Jack. They had been friends - close friends - for the four years they'd worked together. Never anything more than friends, but Abbie's respect for the man had only grown during their time together. Sure, he could be annoying, especially at first. He was arrogant and stubborn. More than once he appeared to be more interested in winning than in justice. But as she worked alongside Jack, Abbie grew to understand him better - to understand the reasons why certain defendants pushed his buttons. And Abbie shared Jack's "hang 'em high" philosophy that strong punishment was a deterrent to crime. God knew New York could use with less bleeding heart liberals.

Jack had been suspended from practicing law for two years. He had been charged with prosecutorial misconduct, resulting from a case in which he appeared to have coerced testimony from a witness. The witness herself never fingered Jack directly, but strongly implied that she had testified to events she was not certain of, in order to bring about the conviction of Randall Peterson. It might never have come to light if another witness hadn't come forward after the first conviction and implicated another person in the crime. Then the cards just kind of fell into place, resulting in the release of Peterson and the conviction of the other man. 

All of this happened during the year before Adam Schiff would face another election. Adam's political enemies were trying to set the stage. They pressured the bar to come down hard on Jack. They didn't have much to implicate Schiff in any wrongdoing, but they figured that a scandal in his administration would cast enough doubt on his leadership to clear the way for a new District Attorney. Turned out they were wrong. Adam survived reelection. But Jack was gone, faced with a two year suspension and little likelihood that he could ever return to Hogan Place. Jack's colleagues, and even most of his enemies, agreed that he had been a political scapegoat. The charges brought against him were nebulous, at best. But politics demanded a sacrifice. Even some of Adam Schiff's supporters thought it would be better to lose Jack in order to keep Adam clear of the scandal.

During the first couple of months of his suspension, Jack had kept in touch with Abbie. He wasn't sure what he would do. He had talked about teaching or consulting. But Abbie knew that it was only the courtroom that would ignite Jack's passion for the law. She assumed that he had saved enough money to survive, at least for awhile. They had never discussed that. But he didn't seem too worried. They would meet for dinner or drinks every week or two. She would catch him up on office politics and the latest cases. He would give advice sometimes but mostly just listen and nod.

Jack's drinking had increased, however. The last couple of times Abbie had met him, she counted at least five drinks in the space of a couple of hours. She really wasn't sure whether to worry. She herself enjoyed a good whiskey. But there was something about Jack's drinking that caused a spot of concern to form.

Now it had been eight months since Abbie had seen or heard from Jack. She had called him one day to suggest a meal together, but was very surprised to hear that his phone number was no longer in service. She had gone to his brownstone the next day to find it empty. She searched the phone books, called on as many of his old friends as she could remember, and even solicited Lennie Briscoe to run a search of Jack's name, all to no avail. It was as if he simply disappeared off the face of the earth.

Still she expected to hear from him again. When the time came for the end of Jack's suspension, Abbie checked with the bar association, but they never got an application for reinstatement. She just couldn't accept that he was gone. It didn't make sense. 

Now something as simple as an old file with Jack's name on it would hit her in the chest like a brick. Abbie wasn't a crier. She hated emotional displays. What she felt about Jack was more a mixture of anger and frustration. Wherever he was, would it kill him to call her? 


	2. Chapter 2

Briscoe and Green arrived at the hotel at around 8am. Well, it wasn't a hotel really. Not anymore anyway. It was the ground floor of a building that had once been a hotel. It was going to be demolished, evidently, or heavily renovated. All of the windows and doors were broken out. The big room which had originally been the lobby was empty except for a wooden bench along one wall, and a few folding chairs. A pile of discarded clothing - rags really - lay near the opposite wall. It looked as if a makeshift fire had been burned at one time in the middle of the room. Apparently the building served as shelter for about a dozen homeless men, most of whom were gathered in a group near the bench. Several uniformed officers were talking with the men when Lennie and Ed arrived.

"Detectives," one of the uniforms called out to them, "over here." The officer led them to a door in the back of the room - maybe it used to be an office? In the middle of the floor lay a large man in a pool of blood.

"What have we got?" Lennie asked as he bent over the body.

"White male, probably about 50 years old. Multiple stab wounds to the stomach and abdomen. ME is on the way. We're guessing he's been dead for at least a few hours. Probably sometime in the middle of the night."

"Can we get some more light in here?" asked Green. The room was windowless.

"We've got some on the way."

"I don't suppose we'd be lucky enough to have any witnesses?" Lennie asked.

"We're holding the bums who were sleeping in the lobby. We thought you'd want to get statements. But, no, so far nobody seems to know anything about what happened."

"Who found him?" Ed asked.

The officer led Briscoe and Green back out into the lobby. "See the guy sitting at the end of the bench with the knit cap? That's the guy. Says he was on his way out toward the back alley when he passed the open door and saw the vic lying there. Says he determined that the guy was already dead, so he went out in the streets and called 911 from a payphone."

"Okay. Thanks," said Green as he and Lennie made their way toward the man.

The man appeared to be lost in thought, sitting with his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands together.

"Sir, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" said Green.

The man looked up and his eyes crinkled in a smile. Ed's jaw dropped and Lennie stood speechless. They were looking into the face of Jack McCoy.

There was no doubt. Sure, he looked different. He appeared to have lost some weight. It looked as if it had been at least two weeks since he'd shaved. His jeans were dirty. His left tennis shoe had more duct tape than rubber on it. But the wild gray hair that shot out from around the wool cap, the same green parka that he had worn in his days at Hogan Place, and the unmistakable eyes, alive with apparent enjoyment of the bizarre situation, marked him as none other than Jack McCoy.

Ed looked at Lennie for help. Lennie's expression didn't change. He really had no idea what to say. Even in the middle of this strange situation, he realized how unusual it was for him to be without a wiseass comment. Time to fix that.

"Counselor? I had you figured for more the five star hotel type." 

"They were all booked up. How are you, Lennie?" Jack stood and extended a hand. Lennie shook it hesitantly. Jack turned toward Ed with an outstretched hand. 

Ed shook it but couldn't command his jaw to close. He knew he must look ridiculous. Somebody had to say something.

"We didn't expect to find you here," Ed stammered. 

"I didn't expect to find a body when I woke up this morning," Jack replied.

Jack's eyes were still smiling. Lennie realized that Jack was enjoying their discomfort. Bastard. Time to get back to business.

"Tell us what happened," Lennie said.

"I was sleeping over here." Jack pointed to a bare corner of the room. Several of these guys were asleep here too. I got up around sunrise - sorry I don't know the time - and headed toward the alley. There's a door in back. I'm not even sure why I glanced into that room. But I saw a foot. I went in. There was no one else around. I checked his pulse, although I was pretty sure he was already dead. There was a lot of blood under him. Once I was sure I decided to go on out the back way to find a uniform. I couldn't find one right away so I called 911 from the payphone, then went back inside to wait. No one else woke up during the time I waited for the officers to arrive. They blocked off the exits so I assume no one has come or gone from the scene, unless they did so during the time I was outside making the call."

"Do you know the guy?" Ed asked.

"He goes by Tiny. I have no idea what his last name is. I only knew him peripherally."

"Do you know if he had any enemies? Anyone around here he didn't get along with?" asked Lennie.

"In my experience, the guy was a real teddy bear. Big and scary looking, but I never heard him utter a harsh word. If anything, he seemed afraid of everybody. Thought aliens were after him or something. Kept to himself."

"Drugs?" asked Ed.

"Not here. These guys are strictly wino's."

Ed and Lennie tried to ignore the question that hung in the air after that statement.

"Okay," Lennie paused. "One more thing. Do you think we should look at any of these guys?"

"I've never noticed anything that would suggest this kind of violence. There is one thing I noticed though. He's barefoot. He's got to wear a size 13 or bigger. Shoes are, well, important around here. I would think anyone with feet that big would have a really hard time finding shoes. I doubt that Tiny had anything else worth stealing."

Ed scribbled in his notebook and Lennie looked thoughtful. "Okay," Lennie said. "Thanks, Jack. Listen, could we take you out to breakfast or something? We can wrap up our work here within an hour, I expect."

Jack studied Lennie's face for a moment. "Thanks. But I think I'll pass." He offered no explanation.

Lennie tried another angle. "You know, there are people who have been looking hard for you. People who want to see you."

Jack's eyes crinkled in a smile again. "This isn't so bad, you know. Great hours, lots of fresh air." He offered his hand again. "Take care of yourself Lennie."

"You too, Jack," Lennie replied as Jack walked out through the front doors. 

Neither detective said anything for a moment. Ed broke the silence. "You know, we could take him in for questioning."

Lennie gave Ed a puzzled look. "You don't think Jack did him?"

"Of course not," Ed replied. "But I'm thinking about what Abbie Carmichael will say to us when she finds out we saw him and let him get away."

Lennie looked toward the door again.

Ed continued, "And I think Lieu would be very interested in seeing him. They've butted heads but they worked together for a lot of years. I know she respects the hell out of that man." He paused. "Or she used to."

"Maybe you're right," Lennie said. "We don't have any way of getting back in touch with him if we need to ask him anything else. Something tells me he won't be sleeping here again." He began to walk toward the door. "And I'd feel better if a few more people were involved with deciding what to do about him."

"Excuse me," said Green to the uniform at the door, "did you happen to notice which way that man went?"

The officer gestured toward the right. Lennie and Ed started off briskly in that direction, hoping they could still find him.

"There he is," Ed said to Lennie as he broke off into a trot. "Jack! Hey Jack, wait up!" 

Jack turned around and Ed caught up to him. Lennie followed in short order.

"We need to ask you a few more questions. Down at the precinct," Ed said.

Jack looked hard at Ed. He turned to Lennie. Lennie realized that Jack was too smart to be fooled by their cover. He sensed the situation could go either way. He decided which way it would play out.

"Jack McCoy, you're under arrest for vagrancy." Lennie spun Jack around and began to cuff him, and read Jack his rights. "You have the right to remain silent." 


	3. Chapter 3

Abbie Carmichael had dropped everything when she heard that Jack was in custody at the 27th precinct. All Lieutenant Van Buren would tell her is that the charge wasn't serious, but that she needed to come down. She stopped only long enough to reschedule a meeting before she headed out the door.

Jack, in custody? She couldn't imagine what was going on. But she hoped she would finally get some answers.

Evidently word had gotten out around the 27th as to who was in IR2. There was a crowd around the window. As Abbie approached, they vanished quickly in various directions. Only Lieutenant Van Buren remained, watching Lennie and Ed through the window. Abbie moved up next to her. "Thank you for calling me," she said as she looked through the window.

Van Buren watched as Abbie's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God," is all she said.

Jack sat across from the table, facing the one-way mirror. He still wore his parka and knit cap. He wore something between a full beard and extreme stubble, untrimmed and much darker than his hair, which stuck out of his cap at wild angles. His elbows rested on the table, and he appeared to be studying his hands.

She couldn't believe that the man she was looking at was really Jack. And yet, obviously, he was. Had he been homeless? Sure looked that way. And that would explain why she had been unable to locate him. Even with the beard, his face looked more angular somehow, his cheekbones higher. Abbie realized it was because he'd lost weight.

As if she'd read her thoughts, Van Buren said, "I've turned up the thermostat. I want him to take off that jacket. I want to see if he's lost as much weight as it looks like he has."

Abbie was silent.

"I've also called for Skoda," Anita said.

Abbie looked at her. "What was he arrested for?"

Anita rolled her eyes. "He was arrested for vagrancy. Lennie and Ed just didn't want him to get away without some of us getting a chance to help him, if he'll let us."

Abbie looked at Jack again. She realized the speaker was turned up so that they could hear the conversation.

Ed was sitting on the table, taking things out of a plastic bag, which was, apparently, Jack's. "Razors, toothpaste, toothbrush," Ed announced as he placed each item on the table. "Socks, gloves. Whoa. What's this?"

Ed carefully pulled a knife from the bag and laid it on the table. "Should we run forensics on this?"

"Should I ask for my lawyer?"

Ed ignored him. "Why don't you tell us what you were doing last night? Before you went to sleep?"

Jack leaned back in his chair, grinned, and crossed his arms. "Bum stuff," he said.

Ed wasn't amused. He didn't like that damn smirk on Jack's face. He suspected that Jack knew he was only there because he and Lennie had wanted to help him, and the man's smugness at the knowledge was only pissing Ed off. 

Ed carefully picked up the knife, using only his fingernails. He shot an annoyed look at Jack and headed out the door.

Once in the hallway Ed rolled his eyes. "Do you want to do forensics on this?" he asked Van Buren. She sighed. "We probably should, if only to cover ourselves later." She motioned Ed with her eyes and he left with the knife.

"Why forensics?" Abbie was confused. 

"Oh. Sorry. Jack found a body this morning, another homeless guy, inside the building off 42nd Street where Jack had been sleeping. He'd been stabbed. Jack placed the call."

"I thought you said he'd been arrested for vagrancy?"

"Only to get him in here. We don't seriously think he had anything to do with the murder."

Abbie nodded and turned her attention back to the IR.

Lennie had moved closer to Jack and was sitting on the table. Jack said, "I'm sorry. I need a drink." He unzipped his parka a little and pulled out a flask. He opened it and turned it up for several seconds. He smacked his lips as he returned it to his jacket.

Abbie tried to control her emotions. She realized that this is what she feared when she was unable to find Jack. He had lost himself completely.

Jack must have begun to notice the heat. He leaned forward and took off his parka. He only wore a white T-shirt, bones making sharp angles at his shoulders and elbows. It looked as if he'd lost at least thirty pounds.

Anita sighed in exasperation and entered the room. She nodded to Lennie. He understood that she wanted a few minutes with Jack. He was grateful. He honestly didn't know what to say to the man. As he headed for the door, Anita said, "And turn off the speaker."

She took a seat across from Jack and rested her arms on the table, fingers interlacing. Jack leaned forward and met her eyes.

"Jack, off the record. This is just you and me. When was the last time you had a meal?"

Jack studied her. He considered how to respond. When had it been? He had been to soup kitchens but had gotten into the habit of frequenting a couple of dumpsters off 39th street where he could usually find day old bread from a deli.

"Depends on how you define 'meal,'" he said slowly.

Anita shook her head and started to laugh. Jack's eyebrows shot up.

"You're still a lawyer, aren't you? Answering a question with a question." She smiled at him and his mouth worked it's way into a crooked smile of his own. He had forgotten how much damn respect he had for this woman. You could never bullshit Anita Van Buren. He realized he had missed her. 

"Wait here," she said. She poked her head out the door and grabbed a uniform who was walking by. "Go down to Murphy's on the corner and bring me two classic subs."

The uniform glanced into the IR and back to Van Buren. He nodded and left.

Anita returned to the IR and sat back down. "I don't know what we're going to do with you yet, but you're not leaving here without a decent meal."

Jack was uncomfortable with the idea of his fate in the hands of Anita Van Buren, but he simply said, "Thank you." No sense denying the obvious. He was very hungry.

Jack knew that they didn't consider him a real suspect in Tiny's murder. Besides, he hadn't done it. He wasn't worried about the knife. He kept everything he owned in that plastic grocery bag, and slept with his arm inserted far into the handles each night. There was no way anyone was going to get it without at least waking him.

No, what he was beginning to worry about was what kind of horribly uncomfortable situation he was getting into with his former coworkers. Lennie, Ed Green, and Anita were hard enough to face. What if Abbie or Adam found out what had become of him? He decided he needed more drink. He didn't wait for permission.

As he removed the flask again from the jacket and drank, Van Buren realized she was in over her head. Yes, the meal was a solid decision. If nothing else he would eat. But she didn't know what else to do with this man who had fallen so hard. She knew his job had been everything to him. She had heard that hit the bottle hard when he was suspended. But she never would have thought that someone so proud could fall so far. And yet, looking at him, he didn't seem embarrassed or even particularly uncomfortable about his situation. If anything he was still mildly amused by it.

She stood. "I'll be back."

She closed the door and joined Abbie and Lennie again at the window. Skoda had arrived as well. 

"I'm glad to see you," Anita said, shaking her head again. "Have you been here long?"

"Long enough," Skoda said, his eyes still trained on Jack, who was just returning the flask to its pocket in the jacket.

"So what do we do with him?" Anita asked.

"I don't think there's anything you can do," Skoda said, a little too matter-of-factly for Abbie's taste. She looked at him angrily.

"How can you say that? You know what he was like before. Look at him!"

"I see an out-of-control alcoholic, drowning in self-pity, running away from responsibility and the people who care about him. The higher they climb, the harder they fall." He shrugged.

"Wait a minute!" Abbie called. "I know you and Jack were never the best of friends but I'm asking you now, as a professional psychiatrist, what can we do for Jack? There must be some way to get him into rehab or something."

"I can recommend some places. But I can't force him to go. Neither can you."

Abbie glared at him. "You act like you've already given up on him."

Skoda looked back into the room. "It's worse than that. He's given up on himself." 

He turned and left, leaving the two women and Lennie Briscoe. 

Abbie turned cautiously toward Lennie. "Lennie, you've been there. What do you think? Isn't there something we can do?"

Lennie was becoming irritated with this day. Why did he have to be the one to find the long lost Jack McCoy? He had cleaned up his own act years ago. Why did it seem now that people kept wanting him to clean up others as well? And Skoda was right. Nobody could help Jack if he didn't want help. 

He was still trying to formulate a response when Ed returned. "Forensics will let us know if they find any of the victim's blood on the knife, or if it matches the kind used in the murder," he said as he joined the group at the window. He realized he might be walking in on something, if their lack of response to his statement was any clue.

Jack was getting bored. And it was damn hot in there. That was making him sleepy. He leaned back in the chair and locked his hands behind his head. He realized that he was still wearing his wool cap and snatched it off in an effort to be cooler. His hair, now fully revealed, was whiter than it had been. He closed his eyes and debated what to do. He could leave. That would force the issue. They could hold him on vagrancy if they really wanted to. No big deal. Sleep in jail instead of in the park tonight. And get fed. He had almost decided to just get up and leave when Van Buren brought the sandwiches in, along with two drinks.

His eyes never left the bag as she sat down and opened it. She handed him a sandwich, wrapped in paper. God, it was heated. A hot sandwich. It smelled so damn good. He slowly unwrapped it, deeply inhaling the scent of warm fresh bread. He picked it up and looked at it carefully before he bit into it. God, Oh My God, it was good. Meats, lettuce, tomato, who knew what else? He closed his eyes as he chewed.

Anita felt an unexpected catch in her throat as she watched Jack McCoy eat this sandwich. He had obviously forgotten that there was anyone else in the room. So she hadn't been wrong about his food situation. For the first time since laying eyes on his damn smirking face this morning, she felt real pity for the man. The wiseass remarks and amusement had to be a cover. McCoy was hungry. It doesn't get much baser than that.

As he began to fill up, too quickly because of his shrunken stomach, Jack remembered that Anita was there. He opened his eyes and, for the first time, realized that there were probably observers at the window as well.

Dammit, he thought. Here I am stuffing my face like I haven't eaten in a month (food like this, probably not for several months) and there could be people I know, or used to know, out there feeling sorry for me. Goddammit to hell.

He began wrapping what was left of the sandwich - well over half. Anita wiped her mouth. "Going somewhere?"

"Unless you're going to charge me with something, yes. I'm leaving." He gently placed the sandwich into his bag of personal effects, which Ed had left on the table, minus the knife. "Thank you for the sandwich." He put his parka back on but left it unzipped.

"Wait a second, Jack." He looked at her as he put his cap back on.

"I don't know what to say to you. But you know we can help you somehow." She looked toward the window behind her and pleaded with her eyes.

The door opened and Abbie entered the room. Jack looked at her. Although she had fought to control her emotions, her eyes were red and wet. He wondered how long she'd been watching him. He felt way too vulnerable. Yet he almost felt worse for her.

"Abbie." Jack's voice cracked. Then for a moment, standing there with his hands in his pockets, was the old Jack. Thinner, and with a scraggly beard, but he was there. He moved to her and put his arms around her, bringing her head to his chest. He pulled her tightly to himself, with one hand on her head. Abbie closed her mouth tightly and willed the tears back, but it was no use. Her chest began to shake with silent sobs.

"I'll be outside," Anita said softly. She left the room.

Jack held Abbie for a few minutes. His face showed little emotion. She recovered and pulled away from him, wiping her eyes and laughing a little.

"I'm sorry Jack. That's no way to greet you. It's just . . . It's been so long and I've missed you so much." The tears welled up again.

Jack kept his right hand behind her head and cupped her face with his left, his thumb gently wiping tears from her cheek. "I know, and I'm sorry." It was all he could say. He kissed her forehead and turned her face up to his.

"Abbie. It's okay. I'm okay. It's not as bad as it looks."

She met his eyes questioningly, hoping that what he said might be true.

Jack knew it was his fault that this beautiful, kind woman was upset. This friend, who had deserved better treatment from him. He hoped he could convince her.

"Do you know how many sunsets I'd ever seen before last year?" 

She didn't answer but looked puzzled.

"Before I was suspended, in my lifetime, I watched maybe a dozen sunsets. And probably was thinking about other things during those. Now I notice things like sunsets. I spend time outdoors. I notice the seasons and what they do to the trees. I watch people sometimes, and I think to myself, they're wasting their lives racing around from work to home and back again. They're more lost than I am."

He looked hard at her, trying to see if he was getting through. He wanted more than anything to be away from the 27th precinct - to be in some park somewhere, to sleep off the sandwich, somewhere where he could be anonymous. This was all too much.

"I'm leaving, Abbie. Please know that I'm okay." He stroked her cheek one last time and picked up his bag. Lennie and Ed had moved away from the window to give he and Abbie some privacy. They looked anywhere but at Jack as he came out of the IR. He paused but, thinking of nothing relevant to say, made his way through the precinct toward the door. 


	4. Chapter 4

The next day Abbie was back in her office, trying to get some work done, trying not to think about Jack. She felt rather than heard someone at her door. She looked up to see Adam Schiff, arms crossed in front of him, wearing his characteristic overcoat and hat.

"Adam," she said simply.

"Anything you want to tell me? Maybe about what happened at the 27th precinct yesterday?"

Abbie stood and walked around from behind her desk. "I'm sorry, Adam. Of course I should have let you know right away. How did you find out?"

"Word gets around when your former star prosecutor gets arrested for vagrancy."

Abbie sat on the couch. Adam followed, removed his hat and coat, and placed them on a chair. He sat across from her and said, "Talk."

"I'm not sure what to say. Yes, Jack was arrested for vagrancy. I understand that those charges were dropped. Lieutenant Van Buren wasn't interested in prosecuting him, only in getting him into the precinct long enough for us to figure out what we should do about him.

"He's been living on the streets, Adam, from what I can tell. He's lost weight. And he couldn't even make it through a two-hour interrogation without pulling out a flask and drinking."

Schiff grunted. "Did you talk to him?"

"I did. He told me he's okay. He made a pretty good case for himself, actually." Abbie realized the irony of Jack still making cases.

"Do you know how to contact him?"

"No. And Briscoe and Green have returned to where they found him and asked around. Nobody has seen him since he was brought in."

Adam stood and retrieved his coat and hat. "Keep me informed," was all he said before he left the room.

Abbie stayed where she was, on the couch, for several minutes. Her conversation with Jack replayed in her mind. He really did seem okay in some ways, she thought. Then she thought about how cold it would be within a couple of months, and she wondered where he would go. 


	5. Chapter 5

Adam's driver brought him to the location on the east side of town. It was a church with wide stairs rising up from the street. Homeless people were scattered on the steps and the landings. A uniformed officer approached him. 

"Mr. Schiff, he's right over here."

Adam followed the man to a small stairwell along the side of the building which descended into the basement level. A man slept on the ground at the foot of the stairs, just beyond the door to the building. He wore a green parka and a navy wool cap. He was curled on his side, with his legs drawn up. He clutched a plastic bag.

"Thank you," Adam said to the officer, and began to walk down the stairs.

"Should I stay, sir?" the officer asked, a little confused.

Adam turned toward him, halfway down, and replied, "That won't be necessary."

The officer shrugged and left.

Schiff sat at the foot of the stairs. McCoy never moved. Adam looked closely to make sure the man was breathing. He was. The smell of old alcohol permeated the stairway. Schiff grunted, leaned his back against the wall of the church, and waited.

It was over an hour before Jack moaned and stirred. He would have gone right back to sleep without noticing his former boss sitting near him. So Schiff said, simply, "Wake up."

Jack blinked a couple of times, felt for his bag, and sat up.

It was late afternoon. The sun was low and light was fading. Someone had joined him in the stairwell. He adjusted his eyes and looked right into the face of District Attorney Adam Schiff.

"Adam?" Jack was unsure of his perceptions.

"Jack."

Jack rose to his knees, rubbed his eyes, then stood. He looked around him for answers but, seeing none, sat back down next to Adam on the stairwell.

"How did you find me?" Jack asked. He wanted a drink. He needed a drink. But to pull out the flask in front of Adam Schiff. No, he couldn't quite do that.

"Distributed your book shot all over Manhattan Island."

"I could have gone to Brooklyn, or the Bronx."

"You didn't."

Why didn't I? thought Jack.

Jack waited. Adam didn't speak.

Ten minutes passed. Jack tried to make sense of the situation. His need for alcohol was growing. Another five minutes passed and Jack tried to remember why he was reluctant to drink in front of Adam Schiff. He couldn't remember. He pulled out his flask and gratefully swallowed. He drank deeply, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. As he put the cap back on the flask, Schiff spoke.

"Aren't you going to offer me some?"

Jack looked at Adam and looked at the flask, still in his hand. He extended it to Schiff, who removed the top and took a long drink.

When Adam passed the flask back to him, Jack drank again. Still neither man spoke. 

Finally Adam broke the silence. "So, are you ready?"

Jack looked at him blankly. "For what?"

"To end this. To get cleaned up."

Jack looked forward. He began to formulate his argument - the same one he'd used with some success on Abbie Carmichael. 

Adam spoke again. "I've made arrangements for you to be treated at Parkview Hospital in Nassau county. It's a 28 day program. After that you'll come and live with me for a month. Then, if you can promise to keep your hands off her, you'll live with Abbie Carmichael for a month. After that, I've got a list of people who would welcome you into their homes, until you can get a job and get back on your feet. Look at the list. I think you'll be well cared for, for as long as it takes."

Adam handed Jack a piece of paper with names on it. Jack looked at it, barely understanding.

Lennie Briscoe, Ed Green, Anita Van Buren, Jamie Ross, Rey Curtis, Mike Logan (that's got to be a mistake), Reina Perez, Mac Geller, Elizabeth Olivet, Emil Skoda,

Jack looked at Adam in confusion. He looked back at the list.

Danielle Mellnick, Al Archer, Jessica Sheets, John Murphy, Adele Diamond, Richard Billings, Gerald Fox, Brad Feldman, James Granick, Gabrielle Ruffino, Erica Castle, Gordon Schell, Kathy Teller, Margaret Nash, Warren Bartlett, Barry Nathanson, Bernie Sklar, Carla Tyrell, Aaron Blum, Charles Garnett, Mildred Caskill, Leon Chiles, Abe Mercer, Lester Hastings, Elizabeth Rogers, Lester Rosenfeld, Rudy Giuliani, Judge Donald Karan, Judge Shawn MacNamara, Judge Rosalyn Lenz, Judge David Weintraub, Judge Douglas Venturelli, Judge Nathaniel Berger, Judge Ed Richter, Judge Nathan Murray, Judge Henry Fillmore, Judge Anna Shiro, Judge Harold Rockwell, Judge Elayne Link, Judge Paul Kaylin, Judge Elizabeth Mizener, Judge Sally Goldman, Judge Harrison Taylor, Judge William Wright, Judge Walter Bradley, Judge John Sierra, Judge Vincent Miceli, Judge Joseph Rivera, Judge Lillian Barone, Judge Herman Mooney, Judge Marc Kramer, Judge Delano Burns

Judges? Defense attorneys?

"Adam, this can't be right. About half of these people can't stand me," Jack said.

"Wrong," said Adam. "Most of them can't stand you."

Jack smiled, grateful for his old friend's bluntness. It gave him a sense of rightness in his upside-down world. He looked at the list again.

Adam continued, "My phone has been ringing off the hook. These people want to help you. I don't doubt that there will be twenty more names on it by the time I get back into the office."

Jack studied the names, trying to make sense of it. He was truly touched. But the idea of accepting charity from these people was too much. Certainly it was a less preferable prospect than that of his newfound freedom. No apartment to take care of, no bills, no phone calls, no deadlines, no plea bargains, no one to answer to but himself. It was natural for his friends to think he had hit bottom. But Jack suspected that he hadn't. How could he ever make Adam understand that he just wasn't ready to end his vacation from the world yet? 

"All you have to do, son, is come with me to the car that's waiting to take you to Parkview."

Adam had called him 'son'. He swallowed hard. Don't lose it, McCoy. He knew he was being given a chance that might not come again. Time to choose.

"I'm ready." 

Jack and Adam stood up, and headed up the stairs toward the car. 


End file.
